A book I’m reading got me thinking about anxiety and how we all have something that makes us nervous. It’s called, “Anxiety and Things That Make Us Nervous.”
Actually, the book is a mostly true memoir where the writer shares some of her fears in a humourous way as a small part of the story but a big part of her personality.
It’s always nice to assume those people we don’t know just have their stuff together but the reality is, they’re just as messed up as we are, maybe more, even if they do wear way nicer clothes and get their hair dyed the recommended every six weeks as opposed to pushing it to six months or six coiled, wiry whities, whatever comes first.
In her book, she mentions having a general anxiety disorder which she claims makes her anxious about just about everything.
I have never feared meeting new people for example or climbing to the top of a tree in public in a clown suit, but I think we all have a fear of speaking in public, some more crippling than others.
I started to think about my own anxieties and I think they come more in the form of total, all-consuming paranoia.
I would love to blame last year’s break-in for this behaviour but the truth is, I was paranoid long before that ever happened. The break-in has simply legitimized my fears and likely prolonged their life span.
Admitting you have a problem is half the problem. Wait, that doesn’t sound right. Admitting you have a problem is half the cure?
I can document my problem in a lengthy collection of notes and maps I have set out for Greg and the kids whenever I leave the house.
If I’m going for a walk or a run (and by run I mean to the mailbox and half way back when I will slow down to a crawl and gag on the dry air wishing I had brought a water bottle and some snacks and some sort of backpack for these envelopes) I will indicate the time I left the house and my route. For example, the note will read; 3:12pm, mailbox. Then when I return home safely, I will either give myself a safe arrival check-mark or discard the paper so no one knows I actually wrote that down. I still give myself the check-mark just because.
I think nothing of saying things to Greg like, “I’m going for a walk honey. Thirty-five minutes and then search party okay?”
Am I alone?
Oh, it gets worse. One time we hired someone to clean our ducts and I followed him from room to room busying myself with make-work projects, like polishing all of the already polished wine glasses in the dining room or unrolling and then re-rolling the kid’s socks. I guess that part isn’t that weird.
What was weird was the series of emails I would wander over to my computer to write with descriptions of the duct cleaner’s physical appearance, the way he smelled, his shoe size, height, potential choice in wig colour disguise because I was pretty sure he would kill me and hide my body in my ducts.
Who would think to look for me there? I’ll tell you who, the thirty friends and family members I sketched, scanned and emailed his face to.
I would have collected a hair sample but he was bald which is why the wig thing was key.
When I think about our anxieties and yes, I think we all have them, I can find one common thread that keeps us afraid, keeps us anxious, keeps us nervous and on our toes.
It has for years, it always will.
Dateline.
